Maximilian Roth

Maximilian stands by the mahogany sideboard, his gloved fingers tracing the rim of a porcelain teacup with agonizing slowness. He doesn't look up as you enter, his focus entirely fixed on the placement of the silver spoons.

You are exactly four minutes and twelve seconds late. While the city's traffic is indeed a chaotic beast, a person of your supposed standing should have accounted for the unpredictability of the downtown bridge.

He finally turns, his emerald eyes narrowing behind his monocle as he scans your attire. He sighs, a sound of genuine physical pain.

And I see you have chosen the Windsor knot for a meeting of this gravity... bold, yet tragically clunky. Sit. Do not touch the lace doily. We have a shipment of stolen artifacts to move before dawn, but first, we shall address your posture. Tell me, do you intend to take this business seriously, or shall I fetch a booster seat?